


The Queen's Portrait

by DwaejiTokki



Series: Merlin & co. in the Horrorful Land of Poe [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur's origin, Diary, Discovery, F/M, Gen, Infidelity, King - Freeform, Portrait, Queen - Freeform, edgar allan poe - Freeform, magic cure, manservant, oval portrait, prince - Freeform, sad Arthur, secret of Arthur's birth revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwaejiTokki/pseuds/DwaejiTokki
Summary: Going through some of his late father’s things, Arthur happens across a portrait of his mother, Ygraine—and makes a startling and life-changing discovery.





	The Queen's Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's "The Oval Portrait."

It being several days since the funeral of his late father, King Uther Pendragon, the prince—or, rather, the new king—took it upon himself to see that his father’s belongings were well taken care of. A few things he set aside to keep himself, such as a pair of his father’s best boots, for he saw no reason they should go to rot. He could have his manservant shine them up once in a while.

            His manservant, Merlin, who was listlessly sifting through a wardrobe.

            “ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said. “Shouldn’t you be inventorying?”

            “I am, sire,” he responded. “Ten silk shirts, ten silk stockings, five pairs of breeches, and two portraits.”

            “Portraits?”

            Merlin looked up. “Yes. One of your father, the other of your mother. Have you seen them?”

            Arthur blinked, momentarily at a loss. His father had never deigned to show him a portrait of his mother. He had only a rough sketch from Geoffrey of Monmouth, which he had given him some time ago when he was a child. He quickly shook it off. Kings did not look hurt and uncertain.

            “Show them to me,” he said even as he started forward himself to take a look.

            Merlin bent and brought out two frames, one rectangular and the other perfectly oval—fine craftsmanship, indeed. Arthur first glanced at Uther’s portrait, which was of him as a young man, perhaps Arthur’s age. He privately thought there was something there that he had never known his father to have: happiness, perhaps.

            Arthur handed it back to Merlin and took the other portrait, willing his palpitating heart to quieten. There was no reason to be so excited; he’d seen a ghostly form of his mother, years ago. Surely this would be quite like it, if not less striking. He turned it around, well aware of Merlin’s watchful gaze.

            His breath caught.

            She was beautiful. Pale, smooth skin only enhanced the intelligent blue eyes looking back at him, in a face framed with hair so fair it was nearly white. Her lips, touched with what might be the beginning of a smile, were like a red campion.

            It was only when Merlin softly cleared his throat that Arthur realized how long he had been staring. Then, much to his admonishment, he realized he had been crying as well. Arthur wiped his face quickly and cleared his own throat, determined to let on that nothing had happened. Merlin seemed ready to do the same, for which the king was grateful.

            “Right,” Arthur said. “Merlin. Take these both to my room. I shall…decide where to put them at a later time.”

            He already knew he was going to put up the paintings in his own rooms, though Merlin needn’t know that—though he probably already did.

            “Of course, sire,” Merlin bowed, slightly, taking Ygraine’s portrait back. “I’ll be back as soon as—whoah—oof!”

            With a loud clatter, Merlin tripped over his own foot and when down, dropping both frames. The rectangular frame came apart at one corner, and the oval frame snapped neatly in three.

            “ _Merlin!_ ”

            For once, Merlin made no attempt to defend himself or to brush it off. His clumsiness had produced quite a misfortune.

            Arthur quickly knelt down and gingerly moved the frame, hoping that the canvas had not been injured. It seemed alright, but he certainly was not allowing Merlin to handle them again. It was simply too dangerous.

            “You idiot,” he scolded.

            “Sorry, sire.”

            “You could have…” Arthur trailed off as he removed the portrait of his mother, finding something else come along with it.

            “Sire?”

            Ignoring him, Arthur carefully slid the mysterious object out of its snug hiding place between the portrait and its back frame. It was a folded piece of parchment, stiffly creased. Arthur presumed that it had been there ever since the portrait was framed.

            He carefully unfolded it, and found that it was three pages together, the first two of which were scrawled upon front and back with thin but lovely penmanship.

            _I fear that my husband may be unfaithful,_ it began.

            Arthur cast a glance towards Merlin, who was attempting to surreptitiously read it over his shoulder. He stood and went several paces away. “Merlin,” he said imperiously, “ _without_ doing any further harm, do you think you could deliver those things to my chambers?”

            Merlin looked as though he might retort, but then he visibly swallowed whatever was at the tip of his tongue. “Yes, sire,” he said instead, gathering together the pieces of the frames, then rolling up each portrait. He made his exit, leaving Arthur alone in his father’s bedroom.

            Arthur turned his attention back to what was obvious a diary entry, and sat down on the hope chest at the foot of Uther’s bed. His throat tightened. If these were his mother’s words, then he would finally have a chance to see what she was like—what she thought, at least. But why were they hidden in the portrait? Obviously she did not want anyone to read it, considering the first sentence. But Arthur was willing, he thought, to have his perceptions of his father altered even dramatically for this slim chance of knowing his mother.

            Did that make him a bad son?

            No, he thought not. Merlin would agree. After all, if Merlin had the chance to read something of his father’s, even at the cost of some belief of his mother, he thought he would do it. Arthur decided then to take the risk, and read the diary entry:

            _I fear that my husband may be unfaithful, though for that I cannot blame him. After all, what king deserves the curse of a barren wife like me? We have tried time and again, even with the help of Gaius, may the gods bless that man, to no avail. Vivienne insists that nothing came of her visit, but I hear the servants gossiping. They say that the new babe, Morgana, is not of Gorlois’ flesh and blood, that the girlchild bears Uther my husband’s eyes and countenance. Though I should keep this to myself, for Vivienne is my dearest friend, and Uther my husband, and for their sakes as well as mine own should I keep my peace. Perhaps I am bitter and jealous. I mustn’t let Uther think I am so, lest he come to hate me for it. I shouldn’t like to be jealous, anyway._

_Uther has suggested that we try another way to conceive an heir. So he has sent for our friend Nimueh and asked her to bring some magic cure for me. I admit I have misgivings, some small feeling of fear in my belly, like that one gets just before some tragedy occurs. The Dragonlord Balinor, a guest here at Camelot presently, speaks of some such feeling or other, wherein his magic alerts him to some impending danger. Could mine own feelings be a sign of such?_

_But no, Uther must know better than I. He seems to have no fear of it, so why should I have? ‘Tis mine own fault for agreeing to marry him but unable to fulfill my duty of childbearing. How terrible this must be for him!_

_And yet I still feel reluctant in the face of this strange magic. I have consulted Gaius on the matter, and he has gravely informed us that this magic, in order to give life to one, must take from another. Uther says it is for the good of Camelot that we do this, that whosoever’s life is taken will have sacrificed for the best. And so he has called on Nimueh anyway._

_O but mine eyes water at the mere thought of it! I should rather never bear this child nor any other than have my son’s head anointed with the blood of some innocent man or woman or child. What mother would I be to allow this? What queen would I be to sacrifice her citizens for her own pleasure of bearing children? And yet what wife would I be to deny my husband his right to an heir? What queen would I be to allow this realm to descend into chaos for want of a stable lineage? What mother would I be to deny a child the right to be born?_

_O how I tremble! how I fear this magic though I know Nimueh and Uther and Gaius wish no harm befall me. Still I shall endure it for all’s sake but mine own. May the gods have mercy!_

When Merlin finally came back, it was to a devastated chamber full of broken glass and strewn clothes and bedding and bedstraw and pillow feathers across the floor, with torn tapestries and overturned wardrobes and furniture, and Arthur standing amidst it all, breast heaving and tears running down his cheeks. Despite the chaotic mess, Arthur’s expression was eerily calm.

            “Merlin,” he said almost cheerfully.

            The warlock felt a shiver down his spine, and he dared not respond in kind. “Yes, Sire?”

            “I’ve changed my mind about my father’s portrait. I do not like it to be in my chambers, after all.”

            “Of…course, Sire…Where shall I put it, then?”

            “The privy, Merlin, where it belongs.”

            With that, Arthur nodded in satisfaction that his will would be done, and strode from the room. In his hand were the carefully refolded diary pages of his mother’s.


End file.
